LA MAMMA [English translation]

They arrived; they all headed here the moment they heard that cry:

she is going to die, mama.

They arrived; they all headed here, even those from southern Italy—

even Giorgio, the black sheep son—with arms filled with presents.

All of the children play silently on the tiles around the bed,

but their games do not matter; this is a bit their last gift

to mama.

They warm her with kisses, they fluff her pillows.

She is going to die, mama.

Holy Mary full of grace, whose statue is in the room,

surely you reach out your arms to her while singing the Ave Maria.

Ave Maria.

There are so many loves, so many memories, around you—you, mama.

There are so many tears and smiles by way of you—you, mama.

And all of the men got overheated on the roads bathed in sun.

She is going to die, mama.

They drink the new wine chilled—the good wine from the good vine—

while their scarves and hats pile up pell-mell on the benches.

It seems odd to feel no sadness, next to the deathbed.

There is even an uncle playing on guitar as a way to pay respect

to mama.

And the women remember the sad songs of the evening.

She is going to die, mama.

Very softly with eyes closed, they sing as if rocking a baby

after a good day, so that it will smile while going to sleep.

Ave Maria.

There are so many loves, so many memories, around you—you, mama.

There are so many tears and smiles by way of you—you, mama—

that never, ever, never

will you leave us.